


Storm After the Calm

by UzbekistanRules



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Mention of Trent Ikithon, Mention of torture, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-09
Updated: 2018-07-09
Packaged: 2019-06-07 16:02:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15222719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UzbekistanRules/pseuds/UzbekistanRules
Summary: Caleb deserves nothing. Or... so he thinks.





	Storm After the Calm

**Author's Note:**

> Sooooo... this is my first Critical Role fanfic. I hope you all enjoy!

“I would personally like to thank The Mighty Nein for ridding us of the orcs that have so long plagued our village!”

The people below the stage clap, and it’s all Caleb can do to keep himself from running off and vomiting in some nearby bushes. How can they not see? How can they not tell? The mayor should not be giving this speech, he should be shouting accusations. The guard should not be standing there to keep order, they should be charging onto the stage to arrest him.

He should not be here, he should be rotting away in the Zuchthaus or eating scraps in the woods. He should not be standing beside these heroes. He should be as far away from this place as he possibly could. Comfort and praise were not made for the likes of Caleb Widowgast.

And yet when he heard the crowd cheer and clap again, he found it in himself to bow as gravely as he could manage as his friends beside him waved and smiled and all of the nearby shutters blew open courtesy of Jester.

He wanted to go home.

He had no home to return to.

\- - - - -

The festival was too loud. The people had not had much chance- nor really the will- to celebrate while the orcs had been here to terrorize them. Now they were raucous, as if to make up for their dulled spirits with a force of will. But that didn’t mean he had to like it.

And yet he stayed. What other choice did he have? He was a part of The Mighty Nein and he had helped defeat the orcs. It was only right that he mingle with the people, give them the chance to see him and expose him for the fraud he was.

But they didn’t. People came up to him to slap him on the back, make jokes, ask him to repeat his story again and again and again and again-

They wanted to praise him.

But it wasn’t right for him to accept that. He was an imposter, he didn’t belong here. And yet he set aside his own reservations, his own growing discomfort so everyone could take their chunks out of him, leave him raw and wounded and exposed.

He smiled and laughed and recited the story as much as they cared to hear. He made eye contact and modestly shied away from any and all words of encouragement and praise.

Why should he have it? He was no one, he was less than no one, someone who should never have any good in his life. They didn’t know he had killed his parents, tortured innocent people, had more blood on his hands than the local butcher.

They didn’t know how he hid under his own cowardice, ran from the man who ruined his life, feared for every second of every day that Trent would find him again, drag him back in, twist and manipulate his mind until he was that perfect little soldier who would do anything and everything for the kingdom he couldn’t go back to that he couldn’t go back to that he would rather die than go back to pain and despair and marching to Trent’s little tune he would kill himself before Trent could hurt him he would kill Trent he would just need one knife one spell and it would all be over he would be free he could do what he wanted he would be able to-

It was quiet when he finally came back to himself. Someone was humming, but stopped when they saw him move. Small, green hands went to touch one of his own and he flinched. Mercy of mercies- they stopped coming closer and just... hovered there.

“Caleb?” their owner asked in a small, raspy voice. “Are you up to talking? Just nod or shake your head.”

Speaking would be the most dangerous thing in the world right now. He knew that if he uttered a single syllable more than what was absolutely required, then Master Ikithon would find him; with or without the necklace. He shook his head and staggered as the room swam around him. How much alcohol did he have at the party? He couldn’t recall. Did he have one pint of beer or six? Was it one shot of fire water or ten? Did he even have any liquor...? For having a sharp memory, he could be so fucking stupid.

The small green- goblin, his mind supplied- the goblin took a step forward to close the gap. “Caleb, I would like to touch you. Is that okay?”

No. No he wouldn’t be able to stand it. He didn’t want to disappoint the goblin- her. He didn’t want to disappoint her. This wouldn’t last but her cautiousness in preening him would forever linger. He would be lost without her. So he nodded to her- Nott, her name was Nott, Nott the Brave and the bravest person he knew- trying not to hiss as she reach for and took his hand. She kept the contact to a minimum however as she guided him to a bed and he was very thankful for that. It meant that the sensation of crawling was only located on his hand and not everywhere on his body.

He could still feel the whip of Master Ikithon raining down blows while he shouted for screwing up. He could still hear their screams, so clear in his memory even after all of these years. He could taste blood- his own, Edowulf’s, a prisoner’s, he had no idea. He could almost see Astrid/Jester dancing with him on that night, so near and yet so many years ago.

Nott carefully maneuvered him to sit and handed him a clay mug. Oh. The texture on this was... quite interesting. Pleasing, in a way. It was nice and heavy and the imperfections made him want to run his fingers against them instead of hurling it at a wall.

“Drink it all please. It’s water.”

But what if it wasn’t? He heard a high pitched whine and saw vibrations on the dark surface. Was that him, or was that something- someone- else? If he didn’t have to do anything, Caleb could pretend that the real world didn’t exist.

Master Ikithon would be most disappointed in his weakness.

So he moved his arm with all the leadened grace he could muster, first sipping at the cool liquid and then chugging it, gasping for air when he was done. Nott poured some more and he drank that too, ever so grateful that she was taking care of him and not leaving him alone.

“I won’t ask if you’re alright. That would imply that you might be and I know you’re not. Not after those kids surrounded you and you started repeating something in Zemnian. I don’t know a lot, but I think I know the words ‘stop’ and ‘help’ pretty well.”

Had he been saying that? He couldn’t recall. Everything after the speech had been somewhat of a blur. But if Nott said it to be true than it must be. After all, why would she be here to play nurse for him when she could be out, drinking men ten times her size under the table and stealing everything that she could? It didn’t make sense.

“If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine. I won’t bully you into it and you’re a grown man. Grown enough to ask for help when you need it. So- do you need help?”

Did he need help?

Was she joking?

Of course he needed help. He needed so much help it wasn’t funny. He couldn’t take her time away from her-

But her face said it all. She would help him, even if he didn’t ask. So he nodded.

“Would you like food?”

Shake.

“Would you like some more water?”

Shake.

“Would you like to sleep?”

Nod.

“Would you like help getting out of your clothing?”

Nod.

“Would you like me to stay with you?”

Nod.

“Do you need anything else that I didn’t mention specifically?”

Shake.

“Okay. I will need you to stand up after I get your boots off. Just be patient with me and we’ll go slow, okay?”

Nod.

After ten eternities, he was down to just his underwear and a cat- when did the cat come in?- when Nott tucked the covers around him. He was... restrained. But not in a bad way. He trusted Nott. It wasn’t like with Master Ikithon. This was better. Safer.

Warm. He was... warm...

“Would you like me to brush your hair?”

He could barely nod. He felt just the lightest touch of claws in his hair and a great big weight on his chest from a lump of cat before he felt the world fall out pleasantly from under him. Rest. Just this once... he could rest.


End file.
